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It seemed like such a simple question at the time...
"So how did you meet this Justin kid, anyway?"
...but things were never that easy when it came to getting information out of Will Hathaway. A full fifteen minutes had passed since the kid's last meaningful answer, and he was acting more like a guilty suspect with every passing moment. Erratic body language, mumbled curses, evasion... he exhibited all the hallmarks. But despite the irritability and one-word answers, the Detective's gut was telling him to stick it out, for it was only a matter of time before he started getting somewhere.
"How do you mean?" the kid finally responded, watching Detective Holden tap his pen against the half-empty notepad on his desk.
"Come on, Will, you're a smart kid, you figure it out," the Detective replied. So much for sticking it out.
"Hmph."
And with that line, the stalemate resumed; the rhythmic tap becoming an uneven thud. Taking a swig from the cup of coffee placed in front of him, the Detective set his pen atop the notebook, watching the kid cross his arms as he settled in for another round of the waiting game. It wasn't long before his patience began to wear, though. Watching the kid stare past his shoulder, he began to wonder if he was in the wrong profession. But just as he was ready to call his wife and tell her he'd be home for dinner after all, the kid's eyes finally set alight, and the deadlock was mercifully broken.
"I'm hungry," he abruptly said, attempting to make a power play as he cast a pointed glance at the golden arch that illuminated the night sky.
"Come on," the Detective laughed, calling his bluff as he leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "You're not getting out of it that easily."
"Why not? I'm hungry," the kid repeated.
"Ok," the Detective relented, wondering just how far he'd actually go for a bit of action in this god-forsaken city. "You answer my question properly, and I'll think about getting some food."
"Ok." He was smiling now, somewhat impressed with how he'd managed to pull that off. But the smile didn't last long. Taking a deep breath as he watched the Detective retrieve his notepad, he knew it was time to begin the conversation he'd been putting off for far too long.
"So, I first met Justin Riley..."
It's like a scene out of the movies.
The camera pans across a schoolyard, sweeping over the sandpit and through the mud pies as it captures the first defining moment of my life. Coming to rest in the middle of a classroom, the camera zooms in on a little boy, framing his angelic features as he quietly constructs a fortress from the mismatched wooden blocks in the corner. His smile is bright as the midsummer sky, his blue eyes sparkle with untold mischief and not a blond hair on his head is out of place...
No, that's not me.
I'm the boy about five metres to his left, crying my little eyes out as my mother whispers comforting words, letting me wrap my arms around her as she tries to calm me down. She's wearing my favourite wool-knit sweater, the one with tiny pom-poms that I play with as she holds me in her arms. She's also wearing her favourite pair of blue jeans, complete with streaky orange paint splotches from where we'd painted my room to match my favourite Ninja Turtle. Her beautiful long hair is tied back in a ponytail, and I can smell her subtle perfume, the scent of roses, as I bury my face into her neck. She smells like... mummy.
"It's ok, Will," she whispers, stroking my hair as I lean into her embrace. "It's all going to be ok."
"But I'm scared, mummy, " I cry softly, burrowing further into her sweater as she sets me gently back on my feet. Kissing my forehead, she slowly leans back.
"Don't be scared, honey," she says, wiping away my tears with the stroke of her hand. "Everything will be just fine."
And I believe her absolutely. Buoyed by her gentle encouragement, I begin to turn around, taking in the colourful landscape around me as she points out the landmarks in this exciting new world. The whole room is awash with a warm light, illuminated by the big window at the back of the room. Against the side wall rests a piano, its yellowed keys singing with every stroke. And in every other part of the room, there's a fun toy or exciting activity, a new or old favourite waiting to be explored. It's like a candy store... and I'm a kid.
"Go on," she whispers, pulling me back into her embrace. "Have fun!"
"I love you, mummy."
"I love you too, sweetie," she says, kissing my dark hair as she pushes me gently. "Now go on, I'll be back before you know it."
And with those encouraging words, I'm on my way. With a quick kiss and a wave goodbye, I begin to move haphazardly forward, feeling like the bravest boy in the whole wide world. Placing one small foot in front of the other, I search for the little boy and his fortress, navigating this world of Roger Rabbit and afternoon naps in the sunshine.
"Justin, come back here!"
Out of nowhere he arrives, chased across the room by an older, red-faced lady. His little footsteps carry him forward, his tiny sneakers tearing up the rug. Eventually stopping at his intended destination, he stands before me in that bright, big classroom, affording an even brighter smile with those big blue eyes. But before I can figure out his motives, he reaches out and tags me with a grubby hand.
"Ha ha! You're it!"
And then he runs away.
"You know, this Chinese thing wasn't the dumbest idea you've ever had," Will begrudgingly admitted, almost twenty minutes later while contemplating a sweet and sour delicacy.
"Gee, thanks," the Detective laughed, watching Will fumble with his chopsticks before he expertly maneuvered another morsel into his own mouth. "Beats the shit out of a dirty cheeseburger, eh?"
"Mmmhmm," Will mumbled, seemingly pre-occupied with the wooden utensils in front of him. It wasn't until the second mouthful that he began to speak again, the utensils momentarily forgotten as he began to talk about the boy he'd sworn he wouldn't."It wasn't always this hard, you know."
"How do you mean?" the Detective asked, catching Will's eye as they shared a wry smile.
"It wasn't always this hard to talk about him," Will responded, setting the takeaway container down in front of him as his expression turned pensive. "He just... I dunno. It shouldn't be this hard."
"Mmmhmm," the Detective agreed, not wanting to interrupt Will in the middle of this train of thought. But when another minute passed without so much as a mumble, Detective Holden decided to push the kid a little more, in the hope his gut would be proven right.
"Ok," the Detective said, watching the kid pick up his chopsticks for another battle with the marinated pork. "We'll just take things one step at a time for the moment. Sound good?"
"Ok," the kid mumbled.
"Good," the Detective said, nodding his affirmation. "Now, back to the schoolyard. You'd just got up and walked away from Scott, tell me what happened after that."
Numb.
There was no other word for it at that moment, my entire body just felt numb. Walking through the plain white door to Room 508, I could barely feel the weight of the footsteps that carried me. But as I stood anchored at the front of the room, I could feel the weight of every single stare in that room. This was their territory, and I most certainly wasn't welcome.
Braving a glance around the room, I could see expectant faces looking back. Ruddy-faced and sporting braces, Sarah Rowbottom seemed like their leader, talking and pointing as her peers hung off every word. If the look on her face was anything to go by, this wasn't going to end well...
"Good morning, class!"
The voice came from behind me, spoken by the tall woman with wire-rimmed glasses. Rail-thin with bottle-enhanced red hair, she was a throwback to early feminism, her angular features screaming 'independence!'. But in spite of this pleasant aura, her personality took a back seat to bright green monstrosity she called a dress, an equally unpleasant throwback to an era best forgotten.
"Good morning, Miss O'Keefe!" Sarah piped up, giving away both her identity and the fact that she was the class suck-up.
"Good morning, Sarah," the green dress replied, having now taken a life of its own. But before I could duck and cover, it had turned its ghastly attention on me. "And you must be Will Hathaway."
"Yes, Ma'am," I quietly said, fighting the urge to run and hide under the nearest desk, not that there were many to choose from now that the class was almost full.
She nodded once as she set her wicker basket down, overflowing with unmarked homework and what looked disturbingly like a brown jacket. Turning back to face the class, she clapped her hands and cleared her throat.
"Class, we have a new student joining us today..." she began, and after a brief rundown of who I was and why I was here, she assigned me to a seat in the third row, one of two seats that weren't occupied in the spacious, bright-lit classroom. Although I didn't like to sit alone, I was somewhat grateful for the gesture, and hoped I wouldn't be hassled as I settled into the new classroom.
Making my way down the aisle, I could feel the sets of eyes on me, many not bothering to hide their dissatisfaction. Although I could usually slot into any situation or group around the school, something about this particular group and environment had left me feeling desperately uncomfortable, and as I shuffled across and slid into the desk I'd been assigned, I had a feeling it could get worse before it got any better...
"Class, could you open your textbooks to page 87?" Miss O'Keefe asked, grabbing her own book off the top of the basket.
I raised my hand. "Um, Miss, I don't have a copy of the textbook."
"Oh."
"Yeah..."
"No, I don't suppose you would," she continued, digging through the basket again before giving me an apologetic look. "Unfortunately, I leant my spare copy to a student in my last class."
"Oh."
"Does anybody else have a spare copy they'd be willing to lend?" Miss O'Keefe asked, looking around the sullen group. When nobody put their hand up, she shot me another apologetic look and began moving toward the blackboard. "I'm sorry Will, just try to follow as best you can and we'll try to sort it out before the next lesson."
And with that she began the lesson, as if nothing had ever happened.
"Ok class, today we're going to continue looking at..."
She was cut off by a knock at the door. Glancing sidelong in its direction, she set her notes upon the desk, smoothing her dress down as she made her way to answer it. Turning the handle and pulling it open, I watched her step into the hallway, smiling and nodding as she extended a hand to the person on the other side. but couldn't hear anything of the muffled conversation taking place. Then, just as soon as she'd stepped outside, she was walking back through the door, clapping her hands again as she demanded attention.
"Well class, this is a nice surprise."
Well that sounds ominous.
"Forgive me, but we actually have two new students joining us today."
Very ominous.
"Class, I'd like you to meet..."
Very, very ominous.
"Justin."
Shit.
It was him.
Him.
Shit.
"Please, take a seat, Justin," Miss O'Keefe offered, gesturing to the rows of desks as she moved to resume the lesson. "Sit tight for a few minutes, and then I'll get you up to speed on what we're doing."
What, so he gets the fucking red carpet treatment?
"Umm... ok," he said, his eyes searching for an empty seat.
Eventually, he found it.
And now, he just stood there, staring.
"Everything ok?" the teacher asked, watching his leaden gaze as it sunk to the floor.
"Umm... yeah."
But it wasn't ok. The smile was still there, but it couldn't quite reach his eyes.
And as I sat there and watched him shuffle his feet, I wondered if things would ever be ok again.
One hundred and twenty-seven steps.
That's how long it took to walk from Room 508 to the Principal's Office; one hundred and twenty-seven steps. Don't ask me why I counted, but it gave me something different to think about. Pushing my way down the aisle and making a hasty exit through the door, I took a moment to plan my speech. The class was over-crowded, I'd solemnly tell Miss McMahon; there just wasn't any room for me. It was impossible for me to catch up, I'd tell him, and I'd only be dragging the other students down. And if she didn't buy any of that, I'd tell her I could only read at a fifth-grade level and fudge a comprehension test to prove it.
Yes, brilliant plan.
Taking the third door on the left and letting my memory lead the way, I applied the finishing touches to the plan. I had the whole thing mapped out perfectly, a dozen theories locked and loaded, and as I took a deep breath and opened the door, I was ready to fire away...
"I can't do it."
"Excuse me. Can I help you?" she began, looking up from her desk with a startled expression. "Oh, Will."
"I can't do it," I repeated, watching as she set her pen down on the desk. "I can't."
"You can't do what?" she asked, looking no more enlightened than when I'd burst through the door.
Maybe I wasn't being specific enough.
"I. Can't. Do. It."
"Ok, Will," she began, leaning back and setting aside the paperwork that she'd been working on. "I think you'd better take a seat and tell me what the problem is, and then maybe we can work out a solution."
So I sat down and I told her, from the moment I'd walked through the classroom door to the moment I'd walked out. I told her everything from the way the other students looked at me, to the way the teacher had addressed me. I told her I didn't like the way the classroom smelt and about the desk that didn't fit me. I told her everything, yet told her... nothing.
Despite all the words I'd used to describe my discomfort, I deliberately didn't tell her the real reason I wanted out. Because if I had bothered to tell her that, it would have only required one word...
"...Justin?"
That word.
"What?"
"Riley. Justin Riley."
"What about him?" I asked, finishing my tirade with a little more force than intended.
"Well you'll have at least one friend in that class, won't you?" she asked, leaning back in her seat. "If I remember correctly, you and Justin were practically inseparable before he left."
"Things change."
"Oh." She didn't bother saying anything else, raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow as I tried my best not to look away. It wasn't long before she continued, though. "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you here, Will. There's not a whole lot I can do for you."
"Why not?"
"Because Will, after prolonged discussions with both the school board and your parents, it's been decided that you're on your last chance here at St. Yves'."
"What? Are you serious?"
She nodded her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Will, you've left the school with no choice. After the stunt you pulled on Mr. O'Donnell last week, I had to fight to even get you this one chance."
"Good lord, you're serious."
She looked at me long and hard."I apologise if I didn't make this clear earlier, Will; but if you slip up again, that's it."
"You're serious." I had no idea what else to say, my train of thought completely derailed by this new information.
She continued. "I'm afraid, if you don't raise your grades to a satisfactory level and accept these new behaviour guidelines, we'll have to explore alternative methods of completing your year 12 education."
"So what, pass English or I'm expelled? Are you serious?"
She nodded her head once.
"Jesus Christ, you're serious."
"Please don't take the lord's name in vain, Will," she scolded, her warning tone accompanied by a disapproving frown. "As I said, one more slip up, and it's over. No friends, no basketball, nothing."
"But what about..."
"This isn't up for negotiation, Will."
"Oh." Well, I must say she made a compelling case.
Walking away from that classroom meant walking away from everything. Everyone. My future too, I guess. Was that a sacrifice I was willing to make? I had some serious thinking to do when I got home...
Oh, crap.
"Um, does my father know about this?" I asked watching her glance at the clock sitting upon her Blackwood desk.
"Yes," she said, nodding again. "I phoned him yesterday to confirm he was happy with this course of action."
"Oh." Well he didn't tell me anything.
"Didn't he tell you?" she asked.
"Err, no. We're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment."
"Oh."
"Yeah." She looked at the clock again.
"I'm sorry, Will," she said, rising from her seat with one fluid motion. "But I'm going to have to leave it there. I have a meeting that's due to begin in five minutes."
"Err... ok."
And with that, she ushered me out of her office, moving toward the door and opening it smoothly with a flick of her wrist.
"Just think about what I've said, ok?" she told me, standing in the doorway as I moved to squeeze past. We were almost close enough to touch, but as I turned around and looked her in the eye, it was the scent of her perfume that really caught my attention.
"See you tomorrow, Will."
She smelt like...
Roses.
Author's Note: Yeah I know, that chapter made for heavy reading. It'll make more sense as we move on, though. And as usual, thank you for all the emails and love. Life is crazy at the moment, so don't be offended if I can't get back to you straight away. I promise to respond to all correspondence, though. Email is mcooke0@utas.edu.au. Take care!